


The Boss is Never Wrong

by Bynthicup



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 07:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13243581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bynthicup/pseuds/Bynthicup
Summary: King Dice sits outside his abolished casino, a million thoughts running through his head...





	The Boss is Never Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something different, something that involved a mix of poetry and psychological means, so this was born

_'Good-for-nothing lackey King Dice'_

 

The phrase ran through his head as he stepped closer to the desolate ruins of the casino he once called home. With a lit cigar wedged between his fingers and his suit in tattered rags, King Dice sat down on one of the large broken dice that once adorned the sides of the walkway towards the entrance of the casino.

 

His beloved casino.

 

After construction workers smashed its exterior with their wrecking balls, its manager never left its debris and rubble. In fact, he goes back every day just to sit down and have a smoke or search for any discarded jewels or small items. He has managed to scavenge a few possessions, where he keeps in a purple duffle bag that he carries around. Not like he has any home or residence to put it in, hell knows if the residents of the isles would accept him into any of their homes after seeing his ugly mug walking to and from. He has worn the same clothing for almost a week straight, hasn't been able to take a bath, brush his teeth, or even sleep for that matter. All he could do was sit and smoke.

 

Sittin' and smokin'.

 

The only thing he was really good for, anyway.

 

Curse those cups. They could burn in hell for all he cared, though hell had seemed like a luxury to him. Don't know how a couple of kids could last down there in the boiling heat and agonizing wails. Probably wouldn't last a day.

 

Off topic.

 

Good-for-nothing lackey, huh?

 

_Well, the boss is never wrong…_

…

 

Is this what it feels like to be stabbed in the back?

 

Heh…

 

To think he was actually good enough. To think he actually meant something to that…beast.

 

How foolish he was.

 

"Heh...hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe…"

 

King Dice chuckled, his low, sinister laughs turning into a fit of violent coughing as he felt the smoke from his cigar enter his lungs. He was like a baby sucking on a cancer-free lollipop. To think that his life working for the Devil had been whimsical, magic pouring out of every corner of his casino as the jazz music and dazzling lights lit up the entire establishment. Magic…a phenomenon that has existed for centuries, those who practiced it normally accused of witchcraft or wicked sorcery and executed in order to keep the other members of society safe from their "evil" doings. Those people, as his mother would put it, were gifted, not deserving of their cruel punishments or barbarous harassments. Nowadays, magic is fake, nothing but a secret lid at the bottom of the black top hat to hide the rabbit inside and a few cards tucked into the magician's sleeves to deceive a foolish audience. It made people grow exhausted and annoyed at the mention of such abnormality, laughing and convicting the foreteller who speaks of said 'horse feathers' as foolish or simply insane. Magic has been tainted by its false imitations used in this day and age, and if one utters anything about it, people brush them off and label them as bonkers or cuckoo. Magic doesn't exist, would be their normal excuse. King Dice never grew into that mentality, however. As a kid, he always believed magic was out there, either in the form of beautiful green grass and shimmering lights speckling the air or in the form of the great moon shining its effulgent rays upon them and following a trail of fireflies or will-o'-the-wisps, leading them to his fate. He always viewed magic as good, though he never saw true magic in his entire life.

 

And for once, he thought he finally did.

 

Off topic.

 

King Dice would never forget the tone of the Devil's voice when he uttered his name to the cup brothers.

 

No, 'uttered' wasn't the right word. It was really more like 'spat.'

 

The words rolled perfectly right off his forked tongue, no resistance or hesitance behind it whatsoever. He was smiling too, hell he may have even laughed a little when he said it. Honestly, Dice didn't want to remember, but it was about the only thing he COULD remember. The only part of his memory that haunted him for the past seven days, and probably longer.

 

…how many days has it been since he's seen the sun?

 

…how many months?

 

…how many years?

 

It may have been centuries, how would he know?

 

Off topic.

 

Good-for-nothing lackey, huh?

 

_Well, the boss is never wrong…_

…

 

"Heh…hahahahahahaha!! Ahahahahahahahaha!!"

 

King Dice began laughing again, throwing his cigar to the ground and stomping on it furiously, digging his heel deeper and deeper into it until it became one with the dirt. His laughter then soon turned to small hiccups, then quiet whimpers, then choked sobs.

 

How foolish he was.

 

The king collapsed to his knees, cradling his arms in his gloved hands and sobbing as quietly as he could, his tears falling on a small red rosebud that began to blossom right in front of his knees. Each tear traced down the sides of the baby flower, seeping into its unblemished petals and crawling into the dirt, offering it a nice, refreshing drink. King Dice would have stomped on it and crushed it right then and there, as he was known to be quite the workaholic who wouldn't even bat an eye at the lovely blossoming flora that sprouted up from the ground outside the casino, but he decided to leave it be. Not everything outside his world needed to be affected by his child-like tantrum.

 

…how pathetic. He traded all these souls to the Devil, put all those people in harm's way yet he can't even crush a single powerless flower.

 

How lucky that flower was, just entering the world anew and never having to experience the emotional traumas of betrayal and dishonesty. Never having to face the hardships of a person's life and carry the burdens every person carries when introduced to the real world. If one was a newly born flower, how they would feel with having someone pluck them out of the ground and pull their petals off one by one, repeating a tormenting phrase as their life gets slowly taken away? Though a newly born flower probably doesn't feel anything at all…

 

King Dice's petals have been torn off many years ago, when the tip of a quill signed his name in perfectly legible brush strokes on a piece of parchment.

 

Off topic.

 

Good-for-nothing lackey, huh?

 

Well…

 

_…the boss is never wrong._


End file.
